


wings

by atleastithinkido



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Pre-Slash, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2013-05-03
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:07:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atleastithinkido/pseuds/atleastithinkido
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd always imagined angel wings as bright feathery things, long and pure and beautiful.</p>
<p>He was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wings

_i._

"We can't take this many, Sammy." 

His brother stood behind him, back-to-back, as the demons closed in around them. He gripped Ruby's knife even though he knew it would never be enough; not for this many. 

His only thought was to protect Sam. 

He sprang foreword, knife extended - 

And he was on the hill overlooking the valley, an equally confused Sam at his side. And all Hell was breaking loose below.

He didn't know why he was surprised. Castiel was an angel, a warrior. 

His trenchcoat blew out behind him as he fought, blade flashing across the field like a whirlwind of light. A demon dropped as a silver knife hurled across the grass embedded itself in his chest. Lightning crashed, reducing a group of demons to ash. As the battlefield filled with smoke and shadows, he caught glimpses, flickers, of _something_ extending from the angel's back, swooping and white, pulsing with light and electricity and pure _power._ They whirled and coiled in midair as he fought, a lethal weapon of their own. A demon screamed as they twisted through her, cutting through her like rows of ivory daggers before flickering into shadow.  

They were the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and the most horrible. 

 

 

 

 

_ii._

_He's going to be okay, he's going to be okay._ The words repeated like the mantra of a madman in his head. 

"Sam, get me some fucking bandages! Something! Anything!" He couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice. He turned towards the angel, voice shaking. "Cas, hey, we'll get you cleaned up." 

"T-thank you, Dean." His voice was barely above a whisper.

There was a flash of plaid and the echo of hurried footsteps and suddenly there were bandages beside him, cloth and water and antibiotics and everything that could be possibly useful in healing an injured angel.

His fingers probed the wounds caused by god-knows-what, coming away covered in far too much blood. 

There was a faint cry and suddenly he felt something brush against his knee. 

"Cas, are those _wings_?"

Castiel nodded as best he could. "When I'm this… injured, I can't help but show them." A violet bout of coughing struck him, spraying his trenchcoat with red. 

"No, don't talk. It's gonna be okay, okay? I'm gonna help you get better." He tried to ignore the sweeping grey branches as he cleaned the angel's wounds, covering the gaping holes with sterile white bandage, pretending he could fix everything. 

A feather, burnt almost black, drifted to the floor and faded away. 

The broken rustle of the blood-covered wings only reminded him that this was all his fault. 

 

 

 

 

 

_iii._

He'd tried them with demons, in front of witches, in front of ghosts. Hell, he could find supernatural creatures by wearing them on the street. 

And now Cas stood in front of him, and he stared.

He was huge, made of black stardust and supernovas and _existence_. There was no way to describe it but it just being _there,_ being everything yet being so very _Cas_ , so many faces and so much memory.

And he could see his wings, charred black, shadowed skeletons extending from his back like branches in the winter. He could see his soul and his heart pumping agony and regret and loneliness and self-hatred and _breaking_ , everything was broken, everything was burnt and hollow and barely alive and the _guilt_ and the _sadness_ it was ripping him apart but you have to be strong be strong for them protect them teach them help him and you can't do it because you're too broken and you're pleading for help _help us help us help us_ - 

He ripped the glasses from his face.

"What is it, Dean?" Cas asked, staring at him quizzically. 

"N-nothing." He swallowed. "It's nothing."

He turned away so the angel couldn't see his eyes fill with tears.

 

 

 

 

_v._

_I never should have turned my back._

_I should have made sure he was okay._

He held the dying angel in his arms, and he knows there's no use trying to heal him, no use trying to stem the flow of Grace pouring from the wound in his chest.

"It's gonna be okay, Cas. I'm here."

He didn't know why those words would be comforting.

"D-dean! You need to… go…  " 

"No." 

Cas struggled in his arms, weak hands frantically trying to push him away. "Dean, if you see my true form, you _die_. I can't let that happen."

"I don't care." Dean said roughly.

"Close your eyes, Dean. At least close your eyes."

"No." Dean shook his head. "I can't… I won't leave you."

"Dean…" Cas's back suddenly arched, grace exploding from his chest, his back. Dean caught a glimpse of _something_ coming from his broken body and then suddenly there was a hand over his eyes and all there was was _pain_ , pain and agony. And he screamed, screamed because he was on fire and because Cas was gone, his angel was gone, destroyed, _dead_ … 

"I-I'm sorry," Dean sobbed, rocking the empty body back and forth. "I'm so sorry."

He stayed there until dawn, words falling from his mouth like a broken mantra, the imprint of his angel's wings burnt across his chest.

_I should have saved him._


End file.
